


You Are Unbreaking (Though Quaking)

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Reactions to trauma, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 23:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21216461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: “Aziraphale-” Crowley’s voice catches in his throat.  It terrifies him, what he’s about to say.  These few weeks since the end of the world was cancelled have been damn near idyllic.  Except for one thing, and he’s worried that mentioning it will shatter this bliss.But there’s one thing that Crowley wants more than to be with Aziraphale, and that’s for Aziraphale to be happy.





	You Are Unbreaking (Though Quaking)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from wasteland! baby (thnx hozier for making it so easy to name fics for these two)

“Aziraphale-” Crowley’s voice catches in his throat. It terrifies him, what he’s about to say. These few weeks since the end of the world was cancelled have been damn near idyllic. Except for one thing, and he’s worried that mentioning it will shatter this bliss. 

But there’s one thing that Crowley wants more than to be with Aziraphale, and that’s for Aziraphale to be happy. 

And that’s why when Aziraphale frowns in concern and leans forward, Crowley presses on despite his instinct to lean forward kiss the frown away. Pretend he didn’t say a thing. 

“Do you not like it when I touch you?” Crowley asks. 

“What?” Aziraphale asks. 

“A lot of times you pull away when I reach for your hand or go to kiss you. When we’re in public and when it’s just the two of us,” Crowley says. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “You always reach back out, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you don’t like me touching you, I won’t.” 

Aziraphale goes wide eyed for a moment, crossing the distance between them. The midafternoon light is streaming through the window of their house, and it throws the distress on Aziraphale’s face in sharp relief. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart, really,” Aziraphale says, and he reaches out to press a hand to Crowley’s cheek, firm and resolute. “I love touching you, and I love it when you touch me.”

Crowley thinks about the market that morning, how when he reached past Aziraphale to grab the flour, his angel jumped as though he was burning. And then about how when he leaned in to kiss Aziraphale last week in the quiet solitude of two in the morning, his whole body tensed not with want but with fear. 

It’s a sharp contrast to the warm hand against Crowley’s face and Aziraphale’s steady, earnest gaze. But Crowley remembers the ease with which Aziraphale has lied to him before, and how often he’s had to lie to keep himself safe.

He covers Aziraphale’s hand with his own, squeezing firmly. 

“Okay, angel,” Crowley says, looking him directly in the eye. “But just know that you can always tell me anything, even if you think I don’t want to hear it. I’m not going to leave.”

Crowley lets Aziraphale kiss him, soft and sweet. He loves this angel more than anyone or anything else in the world- so much it catches him by unawares sometimes when more love blossoms in his chest. 

“I love it when you touch me,” Aziraphale murmurs in his ear when they break apart. “I promise.”

Crowley nods and kisses him again, hoping to put all of the forthright love and protectiveness he feels into it. 

When they finally pull apart, Aziraphale is smiling wide, breathless as he leans against Crowley. He tucks himself neatly under Crowley’s chin, and Crowley lets himself relax into the comforting embrace of his beloved.

* * *

Crowley keeps an extra eye on Aziraphale after their conversation. He hangs out in the shop more often, scaring off customers before they can even look at Aziraphale’s prized books. His angel is quite the awful bookseller, Crowley is proud to say, but it’s nice to be able to help out where he can. 

Aziraphale has been making an extra effort to be physically affectionate, which Crowley would normally enjoy. However, he’s worried that Aziraphale might be overcompensating to let him know how  _ absolutely totally  _ okay he is. 

So it’s not totally unexpected when Aziraphale presses his lips to Crowley’s, and Crowley does his best to relax and enjoy it. Crowley knows he has to trust that Aziraphale is being honest with him, that he’ll be willing to articulate his boundaries if need be.

“Oh, gross!” a male voice comes from behind him. “This is a public area, you know!”

Crowley whips around to see that a man with an embarrassed looking young woman have entered the shop. 

Aziraphale has jumped back as if he’s been burned. 

“This is my shop, thank you very much,” Aziraphale says primly. “And I’m well aware that there’s nothing inappropriate about what we were doing.”

“Listen, if you want to do  _ whatever _ in the privacy of your own home, that’s your business. But just don’t make the rest of us witness it,” the man says.

“C’mon Dad, let’s just get out of here,” the young woman says, tugging on his sleeve. 

There’s a longing in her eyes as she looks over the two of them that softens Crowley’s heart, and that (and Aziraphale) are the only things that stop Crowley from teleporting him to the middle of a lake. 

“But Annabel-”

“Let’s just go to a different bookshop,” Annabel says. 

The man is about to say something else, but Annabel manages to tug him out the door. She glances back at them through the window, and Crowley sends her a bit of fortitude and the general sense that she, at least, is welcome back.

When Crowley turns back around, he finds that Aziraphale has busied himself with his books. There’s a tension in his back that worries Crowley, and when he approaches Aziraphale, the angel leans away before relaxing back against him. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says softly, carefully. He’s suddenly worried about scaring him, “are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale says. He looks up at Crowley with a smile, brittle around the edges, and Crowley can feel himself aching in return. “It’s sweet what you did for that girl, you know.”

Aziraphale presses himself against Crowley, arms wrapping him up firmly. His body is soft, and Crowley holds him tight in return. He wants to be able to comfort him, but he’s not sure how. Maybe familiarity is the best route, at least for now.

“‘m not sweet,” Crowley corrects, murmuring into his hair. “Evil demon, remember?”

Aziraphale laughs against him, languid in the way that feels more fitting for three in the morning than this bright and sunny afternoon. 

“You’ve always been so sweet,” Aziraphale murmurs, voice small. He’s pressed against Crowley so tight that he can feel him talking, and Crowley’s chest seizes at the tentativeness in his voice. “You’ve always been so patient and sweet with me, Crowley. Can I ask you to be patient with me for just a bit longer?”

“Aziraphale, I’ll always be here for you,” Crowley replies. “Just tell me what you need.”

Aziraphale tilts his head up to look at him, and there’s a tiredness that makes Crowley ache. But Crowley can also recognize when someone just needs some time. 

“Just be you,” Aziraphale says. “And  _ please _ don’t stop reaching for me.”

Crowley presses a kiss to his forehead. “I can do that.”

“Thank you, love,” Aziraphale says. 

“D’you want to close up the shop for today?” Crowley asks. “I think I’ve just about figured out how to make that sauce I’ve been working on.”

Aziraphale smiles at him, not quite as brittle this time, and nods. “Splendid idea, dear.”

Crowley wills the shop sign to switch to closed and the door to lock. They remain in place a few minutes more before ambling upstairs to the apartment. 

* * *

For the next few weeks, Crowley runs over that afternoon in his mind like a snake through water. He turns it left and right to try to determine the root cause of Aziraphale’s distress.

His first thought is the blatant homophobia displayed by the man in the shop. He knows that Aziraphale has encountered more than his fair share, particularly given the expanse of his dealings with human men in the past. 

However, he dismisses that thought. Crowley has also dealt with his share of homophobia over the millenia; he’s a gay man as well, after all. But human homophobes pose little danger to two beings such as them. Sure, they can be passing irritants, but not enough to affect Aziraphale this personally. 

Maybe he has empathy for his daughter, but that doesn’t fit with what’s been going on over all. 

Crowley eventually decides to set it aside altogether. There’s a seed of a thought at the back of his brain, but he knows that if he pays too much attention to it, he’ll overwater it and it’ll drown. Instead, he focuses on loving and taking care of Aziraphale so he can deal with whatever he’s dealing with. 

Luckily, Aziraphale is easy to take care of, at least for Crowley. He cooks indulgent foods that he brings by the shop, takes extra care to make sure he vocalizes all of the loving thoughts he has, and just generally makes sure that their home is kept clean so Aziraphale doesn’t have to think of it. His angel does like a little mess, though, so he leaves the books and stray papers where Aziraphale leaves them, just straightening up the blankets and pillows so they don’t become a tripping hazard and making sure that the crumbs have all been swept up. 

* * *

“Crowley,” and Aziraphale’s voice is full of careful want. 

They do this often after  _ making love _ \- Curl up under blankets together, skin brushing against skin. Aziraphale reads a book nestled against him, while Crowley half dozes. It’s a lovely feeling, being half asleep like this with Aziraphale. All of his tension and anger float away as his whole world focuses down to the warm, soft body in his arms; even his own body nearly floats away. While he’s very full of love all the time these days, in these moments, he feels like a being of nothing but love. 

“Mmph,” Crowley says by way of intelligent response. His tongue is delightfully heavy in his mouth, like all the rest of him, and it takes a moment for it to work properly. “Yes, angel?”

Aziraphale sets his book aside, turning so he’s straddling Crowley and can nuzzle his face against Crowley’s jaw. He rests a hand on Crowley’s chest as he settles back in so his head is resting on Crowley’s shoulder; Crowley’s arms wrap around him of their own accord. 

“I should apologize for how I’ve been recently, Crowley. I truly do appreciate your patience with me,” Aziraphale murmurs. 

The haze over Crowley parts as he takes in Aziraphale’s words. He’s still comfortable and full of love, but he’s much more awake than he was a few moments ago. 

“Angel, you have nothing to apologize for,” Crowley murmurs. “I know you’re working through something, and I’m here for you no matter what.”

Aziraphale snuggles against his chest, like he’s trying to sink into him, and Crowley wishes he could see his face. He wants to be able to help him.

“I know,” Aziraphale says heavily. 

There’s something in his voice that concerns Crowley. He sounds distressed by the thought. The tone sets a swirl off concern in his heart; he knows that sometimes he can be a bit much. 

It doesn’t make sense, though. Aziraphale has always enjoyed the way that Crowley dotes on him, even when he wasn’t allowed to. 

The idea that he had started to tend to has sprouted. Not quite to fruition, but to a respectable growth. Aziraphale’s life on Earth would be in danger if his side found out about their friendship; he might not have believed that they would kill him, not for millenia, but he knew they would take him away from the Earthly pleasures he delights in. 

Something still seems off about that, so he puts it back away to avoid overwatering.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here,” Crowley murmurs softly against his hair. 

“Can we just lay here some more? Please?” Aziraphale asks. 

“Of course, Aziraphale,” Crowley says. He brushes his thumb lightly over Aziraphale’s skin, just to feel him. “For as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmurs, resting a hand on his thigh. 

Crowley slowly lets the haze overtake him again.

* * *

A few days later, Crowley stops by the shop with some chocolates and lilies. The lilies come from his garden, grown with love for Aziraphale. The chocolates are from Aziraphale’s favorite chocolatier; he’s been going there for a hundred years or so now.

He pushes the door to the shop open with a jaunty “hello, angel!” but stops short when he takes in the state of the shop. 

The young woman from a few days ago- Annabel, he recalls- is sitting in one of the overstuffed loveseats, eyes red from crying. Her legs are tucked up under her chin, short hair mussed up, too. 

Aziraphale is sitting next to her with an arm wrapped around her shaking form. He’s watching her with concern, but there’s something else in his expression that Crowley can’t quite pick out. 

“Ah, there’s my lovely husband Anthony, now,” Aziraphale says, smiling up at him warmly. “See, no matter how dark things may be, there are brighter days out there for you, my dear.”

Annabel straightens herself up a bit at Crowley’s arrival, wiping at her eyes and letting her feet slide to the ground with a gentle thump-thump. She crosses her arms and looks up at Crowley, smiling on impulse.

“Sorry,” Annabel says, clearing her throat. “I was just… feeling desperately sad and alone, and I, uh, had the thought to come here.”

“I’m quite glad you did,” Aziraphale says. “She’s been listening to me prattle on all afternoon, and I’ve been quite enjoying reminiscing.” 

"It's been interesting!" Annabel rushes to say. "And it's good to know that there are other people who have felt like this, but things got better for them."

"And it's in large part thanks to this lovely man," Aziraphale says. 

"He's being modest," Crowley says. He steps forward to give Aziraphale the chocolates and flowers. "Aziraphale was quite brave- and important in my own happiness."

Aziraphale takes the chocolates and flowers with a radiant smile, tugging on Crowley so he’s pressed against his side. Crowley runs his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls and watches him for a long moment.

“What’s important to remember is that no matter how alone or scared you feel, you’re not ever alone, not really. You have a whole community that’s your family, too,” Aziraphale says. There’s a tremor in his voice that Crowley knows only he would be able to pick up on. “And you have to hold tight to those connections; do what’s necessary to keep them safe.” 

That idea-plant is sprouting a few more leaves, and Crowley squeezes Aziraphale’s shoulder comfortingly. 

“But don’t worry- you’ll always have a safe place here,” Crowley says with a reassuring smile. “Even if the shop is closed, just ring the bell if you ever need anything.”

Annabel gets to her feet with a smile, Aziraphale following and tucking himself right into Crowley. “Thank you both. I really appreciate it. And Aziraphale… I really appreciate the stories you told me. I know it can’t have been easy.”

“Oh, well!” Aziraphale says. “I’ve been thinking about them a lot, recently. It was good to share.”

They say their goodbyes, Aziraphale staying tight to Crowley’s side. 

“She’s a sweet girl,” Aziraphale says, looking after her. “Very alone, but she’s strong. She’ll be okay.”

Crowley presses his lips to Aziraphale’s forehead. “I love you, and you’re never going to have to be alone again in the world, angel.” 

Aziraphale tugs Crowley over to the couch and presses him into the plush cushion. Crowley is compliant as Aziraphale manipulates him, wanting to give Aziraphale exactly whatever he needs. In a few minutes, Aziraphale is curled basically on top of him, head resting on his chest. 

Crowley wraps his arms around the angel loosely, and then he tightens his hold when Aziraphale tugs at him. He couldn’t say how long passes, but it’s a while that they sit there in silence together, just curled up in each other. Something about Aziraphale, something that Crowley has never been able to put a name on, no matter how much he’s wanted to, makes him immaculately content; he could stay in this place for the next decade no matter what came, so long as Aziraphale was here, too.

So it’s even easier than usual to be patient with Aziraphale. He lets the time stretch on, enjoying how Aziraphale slowly lets himself relax against Crowley’s body. 

“You told me once that your side doesn’t send nasty notes,” Aziraphale says, softly. “If anyone ever found out that you were  _ fraternizing  _ with an angel, that you  _ loved _ an angel… My dearest, you would’ve been destroyed. Not just discorporated. Not sent back to Hell. Destroyed.” 

“I know,” Crowley says softly. “That was a risk that I was more than willing to take.”

“But I wasn’t!” Aziraphale protests. He shifts so he’s looking up at Crowley, and Aziraphale looks so  _ wrecked _ that Crowley’s heart clenches. There’s dampness gathering at the corners of his eyes and the hands resting on Crowley’s chest have balled up into fists that catch the fabric of Crowley’s shirt. “You were so cavalier with your own safety, as if everything would be  _ fine _ if you ceased to exist.”

Crowley swallows hard. “Angel, I took precautions. I-”

“I know!” Aziraphale interrupts. “But if hell decided they wanted to destroy you, there wasn’t really any preparation you could make, so I tried to keep some sort of distance between us, my dear. That’s why I keep pulling away; I keep forgetting that we’re safe now. It feels impossible, but I don’t want it to be. It’s been thousands of years of being scared that I would get you killed and only a few months of safety.”

Crowley’s heart thuds hard in his chest; Aziraphale had taken care of him and looked out for him in ways he didn’t even realize. It’s so like Aziraphale, and Crowley struggles to find the words to express his awe.

“Crowley, you’re like… a universal constant. THE universal constant, if I’m being honest. I could figure out a world without gravity, but not one without you,” Aziraphale murmurs, curling back up again. His hands have relaxed. “So I tried to keep you at arms’ length to keep you safe. I hurt you to keep you safe. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry if I’m still hurting you by pulling away even now. Even before I could admit that I loved you, I knew I couldn’t get by without you.”

Aziraphale is shaking against him, and Crowley rubs his back to comfort him. He absorbs what Aziraphale has told him, considering his words carefully. A lot of times when he speaks, the words come out scattered and wrong, but this feels too important to be left to that.

“Aziraphale, you never have to apologize for loving me, and you never have to apologize to me for what heaven made you feel you had to do,” Crowley says, pressing his fingers into Aziraphale’s curls. “I’ve just been worried about you.” 

“I’m going to be okay, my dear,” Aziraphale says, voice muffled against Crowley’s chest. “Things get better most days. Even when they don’t… I know they will soon.”

They lay like that together for a while, Crowley holding Aziraphale tight and trying to make sure Aziraphale can feel every bit of love within him. Crowley doesn’t believe that they were created for any grand purpose, and if they were they’ve certainly left them behind eons ago, but if he had to choose a new purpose, it would be to love and care for Aziraphale, and be loved and cared for in return. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Crowley murmurs softly. “Thank you for those thankless millenia of trying to keep me safe.”

Aziraphale slowly relaxes, every movement magnified by the press of their bodies. His breathing slows and Crowley realizes that Aziraphale is falling asleep, just as the light starts to break through the window.

Crowley wants the “open” sign to flip to close, so it does, and he wants there to be closed shades over the windows, so there are. 

Normally, Crowley would fall asleep too, enjoying the indulgence of an early morning nap with the man that he loves in his arms. Under the circumstances, however, Crowley spends the morning, softly vigilant against anyone who might disturb his sleeping angel.

* * *

It takes time, of course. Healing always takes time, and Crowley is grateful that Aziraphale lets him be a part of this process. 

It’s wonderful progress to mark- Crowley does so in easy smiles and the time that Aziraphale spends truly relaxed and happy. 

Plus, now that he knows what to look for, he knows when to be most careful with Aziraphale, when to stick close. Annabel stops by, with stories and woes and, eventually, a girlfriend that she introduces to them cheerfully; that helps, Crowley can tell. 

One day, Aziraphale just beams at him, radiating warm joy, and Crowley can feel the happy contentment seeping into his bones. 

"How are you today, angel?" Crowley murmurs softly. 

"Just wonderful, my love. Just wonderful. And I was wonderful yesterday and the day before that, and I will be tomorrow, too,” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley smiles into the kiss Aziraphale gives him, wrapping his arms around his soft, steady body. Some things don’t go away, not completely, but sometimes the scar fades to something that doesn’t even bother anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic really makes me wish I could get into Aziraphale's head as well as I could get into Crowley's, because this really should've been written from his pov but. Ah well.


End file.
